Dream A Little Dream of Me
by TheRabidWriter
Summary: Evie has a bad dream. One-Shot


**A one-shot that almost turned fic but I realized all of my ideas would better translate into my re-write of Remade.**

**If you find my writing semi-decent and tolerable, feel free to check it out! **

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**October 11****th****, 2009**

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"Were you watching those movies again?"

Light flooded the room, temporarily blinding me. Curled beneath a tightly wound blanket, I jolted, and nearly slipped off of the couch. Caught up in the horror plastered all over the TV screen, I had failed to hear my parents pull into the driveway. Ambient red and blue, the only source of light in an otherwise dark basement, was replaced with a spotlight. Revealing my sins. Candy wrappers strewn across the carpet, mixed with the various VHS tapes left out from my little marathon. I blinked rapidly, and rubbed my burning eyes; the clock above the VCR said 1:12.

On the screen, the little boy (I knew I recognized him as Michelle's bully from _Full House_) watched in horror as the man I'd come to know as Freddy, rose up from behind. An inky black coat, something he did not have in the other movies, elongated his body. His claws, because this time they were _real_, flesh and bone claws, raised high.

"Kevin, she was watching your movies again," Mom sighed, less angry and more concerned, and she kneeled down, swiping at the wrappers. They crinkled loudly in her hand, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of a scream from behind her. I jumped, unable to tear my eyes away as the man raked his claws across the chest of the blonde babysitter. _Blonde like me_, I noted.

Mom had finally turned around, and immediately paused the VCR. It froze, Freddy's hand wrapped tight around the collar of Julie's yellow sweater. Yellow like my pajamas, which I now looked down at. Her sweater was stained with red, as he had begun to drag her up the wall.

"I'm thirteen, Mom."

"She's thirteen, Liv," Dad had begun his descent down the stairs, eyeing the TV screen before the wrappers Mom clutched in her hand, "I'm surprised you're not mad she demolished the Halloween stash."

"I'm not mad!" defensive, Mom turned to me; "You know what you were like last time, Evie," Mom looked down at the wrappers, "Although yeah, the candy situation was out of control this time." Dad finished his walk down the stairs and began to pick up the VHS tapes.

"You finished the little marathon, huh?" He smiled at me, and I nodded.

"Yeah," My voice sounded raw, and I quickly swallowed, "I wanted to see how it all ended," I paused, thoughtfully, "They got kind of dumb." This was true, but my voice nearly betrayed my calm exterior.

"They get sillier as they go on. But," He picked up the empty case, glancing at it, "This one's pretty creepy though. He's real in this one."

"She gets this from you. You get this from him," Mom huffed, and looked at the back of the case with Dad, "I don't know how you guys can watch this stuff. Especially you, Ev."

"Yeah this one was cool," Dad ignored her, continuing his rant, "I mean in the movie, it's the actors themselves playing themselves, and he's not just a character, he's real. It's uh…it's meta. Yeah that's the word. Meta. They even have his name in the credits, see?" He knelt down, fast-forwarding until he reached the credits. White text crawled across a black screen, "Freddy Krueger playing himself."

And there it was.

**John Saxon HIMSELF**

**Freddy Krueger HIMSELF**

**Patrice Englund TAMARA MARK**

"But he wasn't actually playing himself, it was the actor," I phrased it like a statement, but deep down, I found myself legitimately questioning it. Sure, I _knew _he wasn't real. It was a movie. Just like Friday the 13th, and like Child's Play, and Halloween. Like all of those movies Dad had.

"See? She knows it's not real. Scary movies are supposed to scare you, that's the whole point."

"Okay well, when she's not able to sleep again, she can come bug you," Mom shot me a look, not exactly frustrated, even slightly amused, but still worried, "Okay, Evie?"

"I'm not gonna freak out Mom," I felt flustered, and my face grew hot. Dad shook his head, and placed the VHS tapes back in the cabinet.

"Does your brother know you were down here?"

"Yeah, I gave him the other half of the candy to let me stay up," Convincing Logan to leave me alone after 8pm was easy. All he asked for was the Reese's cups and Twix and the basement was all mine. Part of me wished I had asked him to stay up with me.

"I'm glad you two know how to compromise."

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I lay in bed, my head whirring around, unable to stop thinking about those movies. This wasn't my first rodeo; I had walked in on my dad watching Halloween when I was little and it shook me to my core And yet, I couldn't stop myself from wanting to see more. Sure, they scared the shit out of me but there was something about them.

_A Nightmare on Elm Street_ was one my Mom adamantly proclaimed she didn't want me watching. Said it had scared her silly when it came out and didn't think I'd like it, or be able to handle it. Even if I was starting to show an interest in, "your Dad's weird hobbies", as she had put it.

Recently having turned thirteen, what I thought was a real stepping stone in my life, _a real teenager_, I thought rebelling was the obvious next step. I was gonna watch all of them dammit, and I wasn't gonna get scared one bit. I could handle it. I knew I could.

My stomach lurched as I felt myself drift further into sleep, and my eyes opened instinctively. Fighting the urge to actually succumb to sleep.

"Don't say she was right," I grumbled groggily to myself, eyes barely able to stay open. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the blades, the blood, but more importantly, I saw his face. By my bed, my radio played softly, doing what little it could to distract me and lull me to sleep.

Between the occasional static, and the weak tunes of Today's Hits, for a moment I heard a warped, electric voice gurgle;

_**Don't dream about Freddy**_

I shot up, sweat dripping down my forehead. Enough had formed that it began to pool at the base of my neck. Looking out into the hallway, I saw that the faint glow of my parents TV, was gone, and there was only darkness. Meaning they had long fallen asleep by now. Static sung loudly from the radio speakers, and I leaned over to turn it off. With a click, the house became encased in silence.

My window was open, but not a single breath of wind came in. The air was hot, and my sheets clung to my skin with a sickening, damp claustrophobic grip. Slowly, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the floorboards against my bare feet. They were hot too.

_Did Mom turn up the heat_? I rounded the corner, entering the bathroom. As I reached for the faucet, and turned the handle, I gasped in surprise as water splashed against the sink and onto my skin. Even the water felt hot.

_It's a fever. I clearly have a fever,_ I thought, and nodded solemnly. Still, in the pit of my stomach, something was off. I looked down the hall to my parents closed door. Weird, they normally leave it open. Logan's bedroom door was also closed shut. Part of me wanted to run to Mom, tell her I was sick. Feel her comfort me and assure me I'd be fine. Or even risk waking up Logan, just so I wouldn't be alone.

_You know what you were like last time, Evie. _

I huffed; air, I just need cool air and I'll be fine.

Instinctively, I made my way towards the stairs, and wiped some of the sweat from my brow. _The basement will be cool_, I reassured myself, _and you can get ice water from the fridge._ _Even fall asleep down here. _

Through the kitchen and the living room, I made my way to the top of the basement stairs. Gazing down into the black-hole it had become, I felt a knot form in my throat. Something deep, deep in my gut told me not to do it. Not to throw myself to the monsters lurking in the shadows.

_But there's no monster down there. _

Halfway through my descent, Dad's voice carried its way to me.

"Evie honey!" I jumped, and nearly lost my footing, gripping the bannister for support. His voice was far too loud, and somehow too far away. And _way_ too cheerful.

"Dad?" My voice sounded so small, so young, so weak.

"Evie! Come up here and see!" Again, his cheerful tone echoed down the staircase, and it struck a fearful chord in me. Why did he sound so strange? Hesitantly, I made my way back up the stairs, pausing near the top, "Come up here and see who came to visit you! He's here for you Evie!"

Full stop, I felt my breath catch in my throat. My skin tingled as the heat rose, and suddenly everything was puling. My heartbeat tingled through my fingertips, and the walls beneath them pulsed rhythmically too. Who was here to see me?

_I am not going up there. _

"Don't be rude, Evie! Come on up and say hello!" Something grainy had taken over Dad's voice, and it started to sound less cheerful. I couldn't place my finger on it, but nowadays, I would use the word unhinged, "Don't make me come down there, Evie. Don't be a bad girl, Evie. Are you going to come up here?"

Tears brimmed in my eyes, and as they trickled down my cheeks, mingled with the sweat plastered to my skin. I opened my mouth, which was so empty and dry that a breathless croak was all my throat could give.

"No? You're not coming up here?" Whatever had been mimicking Dad was long gone now, and instead, a rough, hissing voice called out to me, "Ready or not, here I come."

And he emerged; at the top of the stairs, out of shadows thick as fog. Both hands gripped the doorframe, completing blocking the entrance. His features were far more jagged, and angular than on screen. His eyes a blinding white and electric blue, his pupils so small they nearly disappeared. As he bared his teeth in a vicious grin, I saw his jagged canines almost jutted out, like a parody of yellowed fangs. Red and green barely registered to my brain, as the horizontal stripes were nearly consumed by the dark. There was no coat, no bones jutting from his right hand with exposed muscle. But the glove was on, and the blades cut into the wood and the paint as he tightening his grip. Pure excitement and hunger gleamed in his expression.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" Before I could react, to his voice, to his words, to the scent of his breath, I saw the blades slip from the frame. And reach towards me. With a shriek, I released the bannister, and threw myself backwards, away from him. And off of the stairs.

It happened in slow motion, and I say this not because it felt that way, but because it was that way. At first I was falling hard, and fast, as he his claws swiped empty air, missing my pajama shirt by an inch. But before I could hit the steps, I kept falling. Away from the doorframe, and into the darkness, which swallowed me whole. I knew my arms were flailing but I couldn't see a thing. I could only hear my scream echo around me.

And then it was over.

One minute I was screaming, crying, falling. And the next, I was laying in bed, staring up at my ceiling and the tacky glowing stars I'd stuck on years before. I was awake. Relief washed over me, and I felt the remaining tears trickle down and away as I sighed heavily. With one last sigh, I sat up. Or at least, I wanted to sit up. I tried to sit up.

My body refused to cooperate, despite my brain willing it to sit up, to roll over, to do _anything_. Arms remained flat against the mattress, glued to the bed, along with my legs. What was happening to me? Now the panic began to settle in again, and my chest rose up and down fitfully. The pillow, once a comfort, now felt as though it were suffocating me.

_No. Not now, not now, not now!_

I tried to open my mouth and call for my Mom, for my Dad, but my jaw clenched tight, and wiggled weakly. Unable to call for help, I could feel my breath quickly leaving my body and less air coming in.

From the door-frame came a dark chuckle, and my eyes darted wildly to see a figure silhouetted there. Arms crossed, and leaning against the frame, hat clearly tilted downward. Another chuckle left his mouth.

"Sleep paralysis, huh?" Freddy stood upright, his arms uncrossing as he sauntered towards me. Even in the dark I could see his shoulders wriggle, a cat-like, predatory strut. I heard the jitter of his blades rubbing against one another in anticipation.

Every inch of my being wanted to scream, wanted to up and run. But my body remained frozen. I heard him snicker as he stopped at the bed, and now that he was in clearer view, I could see the sneer on his face.

"It's a bitch, in'it?" His mockery stung, but not as much as the blades, two of which now pressed hard against my chest, definitely breaking skin, "Body's asleep," He began to walk them up my chest, and neck, nicking my skin as he did, "But your little brain keeps on dreaming," His blades nearly missed my eyes, instead landing on my forehead, "Gives me just enough time to do what I want."

Unable to really cry, suffocating through weak and jilted sobs, I locked eyes with him, and could see the animosity radiating from within them. _It's just a bad dream, it isn't real_, was my mantra. Just like every other bought of sleep paralysis, I tried to will it away_. It isn't real_.

Freddy's lips upturned in a vicious snarl, and I felt a single blade begin to drag across my forehead, slicing open the skin as he leaned closer. Hot blood dripped down into my eyes, temporarily blinding me.

"I'll show you what's real, Evie," He murmured, "How bout'," his teeth clacked in my ear, "We have some fun?" His blade had finally reached my left temple; a waterfall of sticky warmth cascading over my face now, sent me into complete panic. And I found my voice.

As if by magic my limbs unlocked, my jaw unhinging, and I let out a ferocious scream. Someone burst into the room, and through blood and tears I could see light fill my room once more. In my panic I sat upright, still screaming as my hands frantically wiped away at the blood in my eyes. My vision was hazy, but I could make out Logan standing in the center of my room, staring in abject horror at me.

"Mom! Dad!" I could barely hear him over my own screams, but it didn't matter. They too, came barging into my room, Mom immediately rushing to my side. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but it was panicked and worrisome. Dad had run out, saying something about the phone.

I hadn't stopped screaming.


End file.
